


Firestarter

by Carlough



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Fic for Victory 2k15, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3899017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carlough/pseuds/Carlough
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carwood had seen too many good men go down that same path before to let it happen to Babe too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firestarter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MedicGeneRoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedicGeneRoe/gifts).



> For the prompt "Lipton comforting basically anyone." I started writing another prompt for a long time, disliked how it was turning out, scrapped it and wrote this instead, so I hope it's still up to snuff! This takes place during the events of "The Breaking Point."

Babe Heffron had the eyes of a dead man.

Carwood has seen his share of dead men since they'd first dropped into France; in fact, he'd dare to say he'd seen enough glassy, lifeless corpses staring up at an endless grey sky to last his and everyone else's lifetimes. And there were sometimes cases where a man whose heart still beat, whose lungs still breathed and blood still flowed, lost that spark of life, that light behind their eyes, and their face went shuttered and lost and flat and they stared at the world like it was another place, another life, and they sunk back into their own minds as the world went on without them.

He'd seen it happen before. It was starting to happen to Buck, before he was sent away from the line. There were men like Blithe who looked like they'd gone into the war nearly halfway there already.

And then there were men like Babe Heffron, who came into the war with a fight in their eyes, who probably rolled out of the womb already punching, who were loud in their bravado and their friendship and their loyalty, who burned brighter than any flares in the frigid nights.

There had been many men like that in the war, in Easy. Most of them began to dim as time went on and reality set in, as they realized that they were just one part of a giant, seemingly endless effort against an enemy who was legion, organized and ruthlessly convicted. The harsh monotony of military life was grating on any man, but especially on those who came in looking to be the hero in an adventure and only found bureaucracy and death.

Babe Heffron had been one of those bright-eyed and bushy-tailed recruits to whom bravado came naturally. Maybe it was a Philadelphia thing, what with Bill and Toye making for a matched set in that regard. They all entered the war as if it was normal to them, easy even, the type who let everything roll off of their backs like so much water. They held onto their light for longer. Not their idealism, perhaps, because for those men who didn't lose their idealism in training camp, it was thoroughly stamped out after their first combat jump or the first time they watched a friend get blown to pieces next to them, but they maintained their spark, their will to fight with a sharp smile on their face that made other people gravitate to them, to the feeling of _life_ that emanated from them like a beacon.

Babe was losing that light, had all but gone dark and grey without it. It had started with the loss of Julian, another Philly kid _, a goddamn virgin_ , but this time one for Babe to protect, to guide. And the entire company could see how losing him had affected Babe, changed him. He was quieter, more stoic, prone to silent introspection and fits of staring aimlessly around him. But they all did a bit of that, got lost in their own heads, unless they were one of those like Luz who fought so desperately to keep talking just to avoid having to be alone with himself. That wasn't too uncommon.

But it made sense in a rather poetic way that it was the loss of Bill Guarnere from the company, injured trying to save an identically injured Joe Toye, that truly started to snuff out Babe's light. Like a horse that had been broken beyond repair, the spirit had drained out of him and his light had dimmed to blackness as he realized the ramifications of the war, of their purpose there and what was going to happen to them.

Carwood had seen so many men go through that same process since the war had begun, too many men, and something in him rebelled in a sensation almost like revulsion at the idea that loud, brash, nasally Babe Heffron was going to go down that same route. Maybe it was the First Sergeant in him; maybe it was the fact that he needed to be able to remind himself through the boys that there were good things to look forward to at the end of the war. Maybe some part of him supposed that some act of "saving" Babe would save him, too.

He tried not to let himself think of his motivations at all as he stepped through the fresh snow, boots crunching far too loudly for his liking in the echoing cold darkness of the Bois Jacques, and slid into the otherwise empty foxhole next to Babe.

Babe was staring at his hands, face set and blank. He didn't react when Carwood hunched down next to him.

"Hasn't Doc been staying with you?" Carwood asked.

A shrug was the response he received. When Carwood waited him out and kept watching him patiently, Babe shrugged again and mumbled, "He's been busy helping people who need him more. Running himself ragged and all, like usual."

"That does sound like him," Carwood said with a small laugh he wasn't sure if he felt. There was no response from Babe. Looking for a new tactic, he said slowly, "You know, just because Doc is busy helping other people doesn't mean he can't still help you, if you need it."

That got him a reaction, a severe, pinched look on Babe's face as his head spun around so his eyes (his dark, angry eyes) could meet Carwood's.

"I ain't hurt, Lip. I don't need a medic."

"I didn't say you did. I just meant that as your friend, I know he'd want to help if he knew something was wrong."

Babe bristled, sitting up straighter and outright glaring now. "Nothing's wrong, and I don't need my fucking _hand_ held."

"I didn't say you did," Lip said placatingly, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'm not trying to coddle you. I'd do the same for any other person in this company, if they needed it. I'd do it for Major Winters, if he needed it. And right now, you need a friend."

"I'm not gonna fucking _talk about my feelings_ , Lip."

"You don't have to talk at all, if you don't want to. But I'm going to stay here with you anyway."

To prove his point, Carwood slumped down in the foxhole next to Babe, a serene smile on his face as if the dirt and the cold and Babe's standoffishness could never bother him. Babe, for his part, huffed loudly and turned the other way.

Carwood could wait.

In the end he didn't have to wait that long, because it only took ten minutes or so before Babe was looking back over his shoulder, expression bitter and frustrated as he said, "I don't even know why you think I need you here."

"Because you want me to go away."

Babe proved him right by not even having to ask what he meant. Carwood could tell from the set of his shoulders that he was still displeased with the notion.

"I'm _fine_ ," he repeated, in a tone that expressed the exact opposite.

"I know."

"Then why are you _here_?" This time Babe fully turned back to him, his eyes wide and maybe a little brighter than they had been lately.

"Because I want to be. I don't need any more reason than that."

"But _why_?"

Carwood wouldn't have needed to see Babe's face to know he was frustrated, but seeing it only emphasized the emotion. Babe's eyes were searching, nearly desperate in their sudden confusion.

"Because I care about you. I know you've been having a hard time with all of this – Julian, and then Bill and Joe. You don't have to do everything alone."

"It's my own problem."

"It doesn't have to be."

At this Babe lurched forward to his knees, eyes finally alight with _something_. "Jesus Christ, Lip, I couldn't take care of Julian, I couldn't take care of Bill, can't I at least take care of one goddamn thing on my own?"

Carwood smiled at him flatly, his eyes sad. "Julian and Bill weren't only your responsibility, and neither is this. You're no more at fault for what happened to them than I am, or Luz, or Major Winters."

"You're so full of shit," Babe chuckled, and it was dark and humorless and sounded wrong in his mouth.

"Did you personally put Julian in the line of fire? Did you make Bill want to play hero and run in to save Toye? Things just _happen_ sometimes, Babe. Things we can't control, awful things that we can't change. We can do everything in our power to protect ourselves and those around us, but at some point it's all up to chance. That bullet could have gone past Julian, but it hit him. Bill could have stayed in his foxhole but he chose not to. That shell could have landed ten feet away, but it didn't. You didn't do any of that. _I_ didn't do any of that. Those things were all out of our control, and nobody's to blame for them except maybe the war itself."

"Well what fucking good does that do me, huh? What's the fucking point to any of this? 'Everyone dies and we can't stop it,' how's that supposed to make things _better_?" Babe snarled, and now his eyes were cold and hard like the ground around them.

Carwood continued smiling blandly. "It's not. It can't make anything better because we can't change the past and we can't fix what's happened, but it can help how you look at the future, maybe. Just because we can't change what happened doesn't mean we can't hope for better; it doesn't mean we can't _try_ for better. Not being able to save Julian doesn't mean you couldn't save somebody else. Just because some things are down to chance doesn't mean it's not worth trying anyway. Just because things hurt doesn't mean you shouldn't try to feel at all."

And he knew he'd hit a nerve, because Babe leaned in and hissed, "And why the hell not?"

"Because it's what makes us human, and it's what makes us want to keep fighting. Be angry, be sad, but be _something_. You can't control what the Germans do, but you can control how you react to it. You can control your own actions."

"And you think it's just that easy, just tell yourself that you can do better next time and that's, what, just going to fix everything?"

Carwood shook his head slowly. "No. Like I said, nothing can fix what happened. But you don't have to let what happened take over your life. You don't have to let it change who you are."

"Maybe I've just changed."

"No," Carwood said, his smile turned knowing, "I don't think you have."

Babe stared at him and Carwood stared back, placid and awaiting the next verbal barrage. It didn't come. Instead, after what felt like eons of silence after the harsh tones of their hissed conversation, Babe abruptly sagged back against the wall of the foxhole, slumping until he was almost pressed against Carwood's side.

"You make everything sound so fucking easy, Lip," he mumbled, holding his head in his hands and staring at the dirt beneath them. "Like I can just paste on a smile and keep fighting and act like nothing changed."

"I'm not saying that," Carwood said softly. He gauged the situation and carefully put an arm over Babe's shoulders, prepared to be rebuffed. He wasn't.

"I'm not saying that everything will be easy or that you have to act like nothing changed. Things _have_ changed, and terrible things happened. But what I'm saying is, you don't have to let those things change _you_. You don't have to blame yourself for them, and you don't have to let them ruin you. You're stronger than all of this, but something like this could bring down even the toughest man in the world if he goes it alone. So when you're having a tough time or you want to talk about something or maybe you don't want to talk at all...well, we're all here for you."

Babe was laughing harshly, the sound wet and scratchy. He glanced sideways at Carwood, shaking his head lightly. "You're a piece of work, you know that, right, Lip? You're a stubborn son of a bitch and I kind of want to hate you right now."

"That's alright."

That made Babe laugh again, quietly. "Of course it is. But I don't, though. Christ, I don't think anybody could hate you."

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment then."

"Yeah, it is...You're a good guy, Lip. I don't really know what I'm gonna do, but...you're a good friend."

Carwood could feel his smile grow, turn brighter, genuine. "Thanks. And I think you'll do okay, if you let us help."

"Maybe. I don't know, but...maybe."

"And I'm sure Doc would help if he knew you needed it."

"Stop pushing it, Lip."

There was a smile in Babe's voice when he spoke, and when he glanced back at Carwood, it was visible: small, but certainly there. And his eyes were watery, red and oh so tired, but there was a light there, a spark, subdued but flickering all the same.

Carwood let out a sigh, squeezing Babe's shoulder firmly. Maybe he could sleep tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say thanks to solitarywarcry for putting this whole thing on after I whined to her about it. You're the best!


End file.
